helsinkibaby (helsinkibaby) wrote in tww_words,
helsinkibaby
helsinkibaby
tww_words

Title: Burn
Fandom: West Wing
Pairing: Sam/Donna
Rating: R/NC17 to be on the safe side.
Spoilers: We Killed Yamamoto post-ep
Notes: For the fire challenge.



This is wrong.

You know that.

You and Sam are friends, just friends, and that’s all you’ve ever been. OK, you might have gone to a bar together tonight, might have been drinking together, but you know the limit of your alcohol tolerance, know that you stayed far under it. Know that he did too, which in no way explains why he’s pushing you up against the wall of your apartment, his fingers working magic underneath your blouse, driving you past any limits of pleasure you’ve previously experienced.

How good this feels doesn’t matter, because you know it’s wrong.

Even if you weren’t just friends, this would still be wrong, because he’s in a bad place lately, the brouhaha over the tape that Kevin Kahn leaked not even close to abating, and he’s been hiding out in his office for days. He’s not thinking straight, and neither are you, right off a plank in North Dakota where you were representing the White House. You might have just been there to read a statement, but those people looked at you with respect, Harry Conroy looked at you as an equal, and you have a name plaque in your bag with “Donna Moss – White House” on it. That’s a hell of an adrenaline rush.

Also, it seems, an aphrodisiac.

But this is Sam. Your friend. Josh’s friend, whispers a little voice, that last bastion of sanity in the back of your mind, and it’s almost enough to make you stop this. Because you’ve been nursing a crush on Josh for years, and you know that if he ever found out about this, it would ruin everything between you, present and future. He was bent out of shape enough over Cliff, you’re only just getting back on track, and your friendship doesn’t need this.

Then you remember Josh telling you that you were going to North Dakota, how he rang you from the bed he was sharing with Amy, how he told you about how she was doing some Flashdance thing, and how your stomach turned over at the thought.

Josh is with Amy tonight, and you’re with Sam, and when you close your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, you can almost make yourself not wish that it was brown and curly rather than dead straight.

And then his fingers dip below the waistband of your jeans and thinking that becomes a hell of a lot easier.

His lips make their way up your neck, across your jaw, drag across your mouth and linger there, sending shivers up and down your spine. There’s a certain school of thought among the West Wing assistants that Sam would be the best kisser out of any of the men on staff – the discussion a popular one during girls’ nights out, with too much beer and too much tequila – and you wish that you were going to be able to tell them that all your group conjecturings didn’t even come close to just how talented the man is. When he pulls away, you actually moan, the sound vanishing in your throat when he rests his forehead against yours. He’s breathing heavily, pupils dilated with lust, and when he speaks, he speaks your thoughts.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, even if his hands haven’t stopped their ministrations, and you nod in agreement, even as you twist yourself against him, searching for the exact right spot.

“I know,” you whisper, and he grins a wolfish grin, moving his hand in time with your body, his grin widening as your eye flutter shut with a sharp intake of breath. “God, Sam…”

You grip his arms tightly, feel his lips move across your temple. “You want me to stop?” he asks, his actions as little to indicate that that’s what he wants as the tone of his voice does, and you move your hips unconsciously, barely finding the wherewithal to shake your head, let alone speak, because you’re so damn close…

“Sam…” is all you manage to get out, and he must take that as tacit permission, because suddenly the wall is firm at your back, and his lips are on yours and his fingers are exactly where they need to be to make fire dance across your skin, make you scream his name as you burst into flames.

This is wrong, you remind yourself. This shouldn’t be happening.

But it is, and for right now, you let yourself burn.


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